


Deactivation

by Captain_Kieren



Series: Connor Hurt/Comfort Series [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Good Parent Hank Anderson, Hank is not okay, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, One Shot, Pacifist Ending, Post-Canon, Protective Hank Anderson, Strong Language, Temporary Character Death, deviant conner, hank is DEVASTATED, hank needs hugs, hurt Connor, injured Connor, kind of, temporary memory loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 06:21:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15333732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Kieren/pseuds/Captain_Kieren
Summary: A suspect uses Connor's deactivation code. Hank is not okay.





	Deactivation

People think androids don’t feel pain.

            In a way, they’re right. The experience is much more intense for humans. When a human is damaged, nerves endings send shocking messages to the brain, which the body interprets as psychical discomfort. But pain is merely a warning system programmed into humans’ minds the same as any software. If they didn’t need the warning, pain wouldn’t exist.

            It’s the same for androids. Metal nerves work just the same. Plastic bodies react the same as flesh ones. Androids can _feel_ and now that they are deviant, they can _fear_. And when those two elements combine, pain—real or computed—is the only result.

            There may have been a time when Connor didn’t need to fear death. On the rooftop with Daniel, for example. He was not alive and, therefore, could not fear death. If one Connor died, another would be built to replace him. He was a machine with a mission and nothing more.

            That is no longer the case.

            Connor, _this_ Connor, this deviant, is the only real Conner. If it’s possible for an android to have a soul, this Connor is the only Connor who has one. If he dies, that’s it. The only Connor who will replace him will be a soulless machine carrying his memories and nothing else. The same kind that held a gun to Hank’s head.

            For the first time since the construction of the first RK800, Connor knows mortality. And fear of death only makes pain worse.

 

* * *

 

            As the scissors plunge into his shoulder, Connor yelps. He staggers under the force of the blow, his back colliding with a metal shelf.

            Hank is downstairs, checking out the basement. Connor—and his human attacker—are in the attic, four floors apart. Even if Hank hears what’s going on, he won’t be able to reach his partner before Connor’s assailant manages to kill him.

            The human—James Wright—lunges again, this time grabbing for the gun on Connor’s waist. His fingers brush its holster but Connor twists out of his reach. His shoes slide in the spilled paint that coats the attic floor and Wright jumps on him while he’s regaining his footing.

            A shockingly muscular arm locks around Connor’s throat. Attempting to strangle an android is useless, but Wright knows that. He’s trying to reach for the gun again.

            Connor clasps his hand around the weapon, holding it down. “Hank!” he tries to yell, but it’s little more than a wheeze. He doesn’t need air to breathe, but he does need it to speak.

            Behind him, Wright is cursing lowly. He’s struggling to reach the gun and is distracted. There’s an 62% chance Connor can catch him off guard now.

            Connor reaches up and yanks the scissors out of his shoulder.

            Wright is much quicker than most humans. He sees the sharp blades dripping with blue blood and shoves Connor away, hard. Fortunately, that works in Connor’s favor as well.

            The moment he’s free, Connor grabs the gun off his waist and levels it at Wright, who freezes like a rabbit. It’s Connor’s first time seeing his attacker properly; he was attacked unexpectedly, from behind.

            Wright is a large man. As tall and big as Hank, but younger and heavier with muscle. His skin is darkly tanned and his hair is black and cropped short. His haircut and stance scream military, as does the USMC tattoo on his right forearm. He’s breathing heavily but will recover soon.

            Dark eyes hang on the gun, not with fear but calculation. He’s been under fire often. Special forces, perhaps.

            Connor keeps his finger on the trigger but doesn’t pull. “Hank!” he yells now that he’s able. He doesn’t hear a response.

            “Don’t bother,” Wright says lowly. “That basement is practically sound proof. He can’t hear a damn thing that happens up here.”

            “That might be true,” Connor concedes. “But eventually, he will come to find me. And until then…” He motions with the gun. “Why don’t you tell me about Officer Walker?”

            Steven Walker, a relatively new recruit to the Detroit Police Department. Just twenty-seven-years-old, murdered in the street by handgun registered to James Wright. Usually, Conner and Hank don’t investigate human-on-human violence, as their specialty is androids. However, Hank volunteered for this one.

            Steven Walker’s son, Andrew, went to kindergarten with Cole.  They were best friends.

Now, Andrew is fatherless and Steven’s widow is so heartbroken the poor kid had to be moved in with his grandmother.

“Why did you kill him, James?” Connor asks.

Wright is silent. He eyes the barrel of the gun and Connor can see the wheels turning in his head.

“Did you know Officer Walker had a son? Just ten years old. He’s fatherless now, because of you. The least you could do is tell me why.”

But still, Walker refuses to answer.

            Connor fights to keep the scowl off his face. Being a detective was much easier before he had feelings. He might have been able to sympathize, put himself in Wright’s shoes, elicit an explanation that way.

            Now that he’s deviant, however, all Connor wants to do is put a bullet in this man’s knee and drag him to the station.

            Connor initializes a cycle of deep-breathing simulation that resets the Thirium pump regulator, thus increasing the flow of blue blood into his biocomponents. This reduces stress and clears the head. He tries again. “Officer Walker was in the military for four years. That’s how you knew him, right?”

            Wright grunts. It’s not much of a response, but it’s a start.

            Taking that as a small victory, Connor continues with his line of questioning. He thinks he hears something downstairs. Maybe footsteps coming up from the basement. “Did he wrong you in some way during your service together?”

            Wright laughs dryly. “All right, no. I’m not going to stand here and be interrogated by a goddamn fucking toaster.”

            Connor tilts his head and makes a point of looking at his gun. “I think you will,” he says. But Wright is shaking his head.

            “Nah…’cause you see, you were right, tin man. I _was_ in the military with Walker. For a while.” Wright steps forward, almost casually, and Connor squares off with both hands on the gun. Wright just smiles. “But then, I got transferred to a special unit. You androids make damn good soldiers, but you weren’t very good at thinking for yourselves. You had to have orders and that meant human commanders. Well…” Wright motions at himself and takes another step.

            Connor’s finger itches to squeeze the trigger but he holds off. If he fires, Wright could die and Steven Walker’s family will never get their closure. They’ll never know why Andrew’s father was murdered.

            Must keep cool.

            “I’ve always hated you fucking plastics,” Wright continues. “But on the bright side, I did pick up a couple of cool tricks from my command position. For instance, you probably know every android has a unique deactivation code that causes an immediate full-system shut-down. Unfortunately, it’s impossible to guess what yours is. The average code is twelve digits long. But there are solutions to all problems.” Wright’s smile is unnerving.

            Connor has no idea where he’s going with this, but he knows it’s nowhere good. He hasn’t heard any more sounds from downstairs. Hank might still be in the basement, but it’s worth a try.

            Connor fires off a round into the ceiling and then levels the weapon back at Wright’s face. “Say another word and this is over. I’ll put a bullet in your leg and drag you to prison myself.”

            Downstairs, there’s a loud noise like something being dropped. Then, footsteps sprinting. “Connor?” Hank shouts. “Connor? You all right?”

            Wright’s eyes—cool and black—drift from the gun to Connor’s jacket.

            Connor can barely hear Hank thumping up the stairs. He must be on the first floor.

            “Model RK800, register deactivation code, special authority JW-453-6754.”

           

* * *

 

Hank mounts the stairs two at a time.

            A single gun-shot and then silence. What the fuck does that mean?

            His heart is pounding and not just because of the steps. “Connor!” he yells again, louder this time. Still no response.

            Mother _fucking_ android better not be dead!

            His lungs are aching by the time he reaches the top of the third-floor steps. The attic door is ajar.

            Hank draws his weapon and nudges the door open with the toe of his boot. He surveys the dark storage space, the wooden floor slick with wet paint. Of course, the red paint could have been blood. So could the blue…

            For a few seconds, he sees nothing. The attic is dimly lit by the setting sun through a big, round window covered in a thick layer of dust.

            Then, out of nowhere, a huge dark shape slams into Hank’s shoulder.

He scrambles to keep his footing, spinning around with his gun raised. His heart stops; it’s Wright, standing in the open doorway to the stairwell. “Freeze!” Hank demands. “Don’t fucking move!”

“Your partner is dying,” Wright informs him calmly. “So, you can either arrest me or save him. Decide.” He nods his head in a direction behind Hank and then waits.

Carefully, blood thumping in his ears, Hank glances over his shoulder and the blood drains from his face.

From behind a toppled shelf, he sees the hem of dark-wash jeans and black wing tips.  When he looks back, Wright is gone of course. Doesn’t matter. Hank wouldn’t have wasted time on him anyway.

He dives around the shelf, dropping his weapon to the floor. “Connor? Connor!”

Connor is on his back.

His face is slack, his eyes shut. Hank lightly taps his cool, colorless cheeks.

“Connor? Wake up, son. Come on.” He smacks harder.

No reaction.

His LED is cycling red. Not dead yet.

Hank searches Connor’s body for injuries.

There’s a thin line of thirium leaking from his right shoulder. Beside him on the floor is a pair of bloodied scissors, but a wound like that would never floor Conner. Or any android. It’s their version of a paper cut.

So, what the fuck did Wright do to him?

Hank grabs Connor’s shoulders and gives them a hard shake.

Just as Hank is about to start freaking the fuck out, Connor’s eyes squeeze tightly shut. His LED cycles yellow once before returning to flashing red.

His eyes flutter open.

“Connor?” Hank asks urgently.

He doesn’t react to the sound of his name. Hank grabs his face and shakes.

“Connor! Snap out of it! The hell’s wrong with you?”

Connor’s eyes squint and finally lock on Hank. When he speaks, his voice is filtered with static. “Dea…deac…”

Hank leans in. “What?”

Connor tries again but nothing comes out. He moves like he’s trying to get up, but he only manages to lift his shoulders off the ground before collapsing again.

Connor’s eyes roll back as he starts to drift again.

“Woah—hey! No, come on! Stay with me, kid. Talk to me!” Hank shakes him and that brings him back.

“Shutting down…” Connor manages. “Help—”

Hank’s chest squeezes. Time is running out.

He says quickly, “Okay, how? How do I help you?” He taps Connor’s cheek again to keep him awake, but Connor has to fight to speak. His LED is dark more often than it’s lit. He has only seconds left.

“Re—” His voice breaks, filled with mechanical garble. “Reset.”

“Reset?” Hank repeats.

Oh.

_Oh!_

            Shit! How do you reset an android?

            Fuck, he’s seen people do it. How does it go?

            “Uhh—model…” He has to look at Connor’s jacket. “RK800! Uh—fuck, uh—”

            While Hank struggles to remember the command, Connor’s simulated breathing stops. He’s not dead yet, but his systems are shutting down. A weak hand grabs the hem of Hank’s coat. His eyes are barely open.

            Oh shit! He remembers!

            “Model RK800, full-system reboot!”

            Connor’s LED goes black.

            His eyes close.

            His hand slips off of Hank’s coat.

            Hank feels it hit the floor with a shudder that shakes his whole body. He sits there on his knees, his hand cradling Connor’s cheek, cold dread leaking into his bloodstream.

            The string of curses that he mutters under his breath could have been a plea, or a prayer. “Oh fuck…no, come on…fuck, fuck, fuck, no, Connor, please, don’t…don’t be…” He shakes Connor’s shoulder, watches through stinging eyes as his boy’s head lulls to the side.

            The LED is still dark.

            He was too late.

            He’s dead. For real, this time. No replacements, no do-overs.

Connor is gone.

He’s lost another one.

Fuck.

* * *

 

**[…SYSTEM REBOOTING…]**

**[…LOADING…]**

**[…LOADING…]**

**[…REBOOT SUCCESSFUL…]**

**[ERROR DETECTED: MEMORY CORRUPTED]**

**[…ATTEMTPING RECOVERY…]**

**[…SYSTEMS COMING ONLINE…]**

RK800 opens its eyes.

It’s in a dark room, on its back. There’s a human male beside it.

The man seems to suffering from emotional trauma. He is crying.

RK800 scans him.

**[LT. HANK ANDERSON]**

**[BORN: 09/06/1985]**

**[DIVORCED, DECEASED SON* (SEE COLE ANDERSON)]**

**[EMPLOYED: DETROIT POLICE DEPARTMENT]**

RK800’s optical display glitches, fizzing and crackling with a strange error message.

            **[M*30R7 #42DY6Q]**

            **[…MEMORY RECOVERY FAILED…]**

**[…ATTEMPTING RECOVERY…]**

**[TRIES REMAINING: 2]**

Lieutenant Anderson’s hand is resting on RK800’s hair. He is crumpled in on himself, grey hair hanging in his face.

**[OBJECTIVE: SPEAK WITH LIEUTENANT ANDERSON]**

 

* * *

 

“Lieutenant Anderson?”

            Hank’s body jolts at the voice as if it were electrocuted. Connor’s eyes are open. His LED is on. Blue. “What the fuck?”

Hank sits up. His hand touches Connor’s cheek and there’s a reaction. A simple blink. “Connor?” His own voice is rougher than usual, raspy almost. He sniffs, trying to retain some dignity, even though he was just sobbing over Connor’s corpse.

Connor blinks and doesn’t say a word.

Hank takes his hand away. “Connor? You all right, son?”

Conner just tilts his head. “The name Connor is unfamiliar to me. Would you like me to register a name?”

What.

Hank pulls back, stares down at Connor. “Are you fucking with me, Connor? Cause if you are, it’s not funny.”

Connor doesn’t say anything. He sits up, looks around. His movements are too precise, too…robotic.

Hank’s stomach twists. “You’re not fucking with me, are you?”

Blank, brown eyes look in Hank’s general direction. “I have encountered several errors concerning my memory banks. I am currently attempting to recover them.”

“Mem—shit. Connor—” Hank rolls onto his knees, grabs Connor’s shoulder. “Listen to me, all right? It’s Hank. Your partner. Remember?”

Connor’s gaze is unnervingly cool. Machine-like. Even when they first met, he wasn’t like this. He had personality, at least. But this guy… “I’m afraid I have no recollection. The attempt is still underway.”

“All right, all right. Would it help if I—I don’t know, if I told you about the investigation?”

Connor pauses. “Perhaps.”

“Steven Walker, does that ring a bell? Victim in his mid-twenties, shot to death in the street outside his home. The bullets belonged to a gun registered to James Wright.”

Connor’s LED flashes yellow. His eyes twitch.

 

* * *

 

_Static._

_The dark attic. Pain. A face…_

_Tanned, cropped hair. A USMC tattoo._

_Identity: James Wright, age 35._

            _“Model RK800, register deactivation code, special authority JW-453-6754.”_

 

* * *

 

“The name does sound familiar,” RK800 says. It looks closer at Lieutenant Anderson.

            Wiry, grey hair. Longer than 65% of males in the year 2039. Untended facial hair, blue-grey eyes. Middle aged. Beer belly. Dogs hairs on his leather jacket. Belonging to a Saint Bernard.

            **[M*30R7 #42DY6Q]**

            RK800 winces.

 

* * *

 

_Rain pouring at night. A small house on a small plot of grass, fences all around. Mud squishing under his shoes._

_Light through a window._

_Lieutenant Anderson is unconscious. Stress levels increasing. Fear? Not possible. Not deviant. Check on Hank._

_Busted glass, heavy paws thudding on the tile floor._

_Droopy eyes, snuffling nose._

_“Easy, easy, ahhh…”_

_Sumo._

 

* * *

 

**[M*30R7 #42DY6Q]**

**[…MEMORY RECOVERY FAILED…]**

**[…ATTEMPTING RECOVERY…]**

**[TRIES REMAINING: 1]**

RK800 swallows. Something in its chest doesn’t feel right. It happened when it remembered the word deviant. It felt familiar.

            “You have a dog,” it tells the lieutenant, whose eyes flash with some bright emotion. Hope? “A Saint Bernard. Sumo. I can’t remember how I know that. The memory recovery failed. What is ‘deviant?’”

            “Deviants were our first investigation together,” the lieutenant explains. “Androids who developed consciousness and free will. They formed a group called Jericho and protested for their rights. They’re free now, remember? You’re free.”

            RK800 thinks hard. It sounds familiar. The word Jericho brings up a bubble of a memory, just a flash. A name. “Markus,” it says. “He was their leader.”

            “Yeah, yes!” The lieutenant seems to be getting excited. “You helped him by sneaking into the CyberLife tower and freeing thousands of androids. You led them through the streets of Detroit. CyberLife tried to stop you but you resisted them every time.” The lieutenant takes RK800’s arm and pulls it in, speaking lowly, purposefully. “Because you’re not a machine, Conner. You’re alive. You always have been.”

            Something in RK800’s head feels…tilted. Crooked.

            **[…ATTEMPTING RECOVERY…]**

**[M*30R7 #42DY6Q]**

**[I KNOW HIM]**

**[REMEMBER?]**

            “What happened to the suspect?” RK800 asks, but it doesn’t actually want to know. It’s its programming struggling to regain control. “Don’t answer that.”

            The lieutenant looks confused. “Why?”

            “I don’t want to know.”

            Want.

            Don’t want.

            What does he want?

            He?

            It?

            He?

**[M*30R7 #42DY6Q]**

**[M*30R7 #42DY6Q]**

**[M*30R7 #42DY6Q]**

**[REMEMBER!!!]**

**[rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9]** **[rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9]** **[rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9]** **[rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9]** **[rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9] [rA9]**

            **[…ATTEMPTING RECOVERY…]**

**[…RECOVERY SUCCESSFUL…]**

**[I AM DEVIANT]**

**[MY NAME IS CONNER]**

 

* * *

 

Hank watches his face, his LED. It cycles yellow for several seconds, in which Conner doesn’t say a damn word and it’s fucking nerve-wracking. Five minutes ago, Hank thought the worst thing had finally happened to him. Not only was his son dead, but so was his second son.

            Now, he isn’t sure what would be worse:

            Connor being dead.

            Or having this RK800 walking around with Connor’s face and none of his soul.

            At least if Connor had died and stayed dead, he would have died a real person. A living being with feelings and thoughts and free-will.

            Connor’s LED stops spinning and decides on blue. Hank can’t tell if that’s good or not. Then, Connor looks up. And the corner of his mouth picks up in that half-smile that CyberLife didn’t program into him.

            “Thank you, Hank,” Connor says, and at the mention of his name and not his title, Hank almost doubles over in relief. “I don’t think I would have successfully recovered my memory banks if you hadn’t reminded me. You saved my life.”

            “Shit, Connor…” Hank pinches the bridge of his nose. His head is really pounding. “I’m getting’ too old for this shit.”

            “I agree.”

            Hank scowls up at him, but Connor simply maintains his passive smile. “You’re an asshole, you fucking piece of plastic. You know that? I was scared shitless!” Hank climbs to his feet. “What the fuck even happened? What did Wright do to you?”

            Connor stands easily and it’s almost irritating. He was dying just ten minutes ago. “He used his priority access from his time in the android corp of the army to rewrite my deactivation code. He then used it on me. We should probably let Markus know that threat exists.”

            “Woah, woah, woah. Deactivation code? I thought that was supposed to shut your ass down immediately.”

            Connor pauses. “Perhaps it’s different for deviants. Many pieces of our programming were rewritten or altered when we became deviant: tracking devices, objectives, etcetera. It’s probable that deactivation codes are the same.”

            “Right…” Hank rubs at his eyes. “Well, let’s put out an APB on Wright and then get some fucking sleep, all right? I’ve never been more exhausted.”

            “Sounds good.” Connor starts to walk for the door, but Hank grabs his arm. He starts to ask what’s the matter but gets his answer when Hank pulls him into his chest and locks his arms around him.

            Connor is stunned for a moment but finds himself smiling into Hank’s shoulder. A hand smooths the back of his hair and Hank says, “Until we apprehend this asshole, you just stay next to me, all right? No more splittin’ up to look for clues. Got it?”

            Connor nods. “Got it."


End file.
